


And set my wings straight to bridge the wide, wide sea

by Chierei



Category: Assassin's Creed, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Temeraire Fusion, Dragons and Assassins, Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/pseuds/Chierei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Desmond’s ancestors have the tendency of finding dragons that were not meant for them.</p>
<p>  <i>There was only ever one dragon in Masyaf and they called her Al Mualim. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	And set my wings straight to bridge the wide, wide sea

There was only ever one dragon in Masyaf. Al Mualim’s scales gleamed in the high sun, a bright and uninterrupted white and her eyes glowed in an unnatural red. The Creed ran in her veins, born and bred for the purpose of protecting the Brotherhood.

She was a middling weight dragon, but sleek and unadorned of the various horns and markings of the local feral tribes. She spent most of her days sprawled out dangerously within the fortress, her long, lean tail coiled along the garden among the doves and her scarlet eye peering in through the windows watching the scattering of novices and masters alike with a careful eye. The feral dragons have long since learned to leave her be, knowing that Masyaf was hers and that she would defend it fiercely.

She was the living symbol of the Creed, ageless and undefined. The Assassins dressed in her colors, white for truth, red for blood. Sometimes she could be seen in the air, her eerie white scales flashing as she patrols the endless blue skies. And sometimes, sometimes, the brothers could hear her roar, a challenge and a promise.

_(There is only one dragon in Masyaf and as Al Mualim grows old, they start to worry for she had not provided an egg to succeed her. Al Mualim scoffs, for she shall provide an egg when there is one worthy of her egg. And, she thinks, her hackles raised as the Grandmaster, the traitor Rashid, wields the Apple in the deepest betrayal of their Creed, this one has never been worthy._

_When Altair takes up the mantle, clothed in black and red robes, she considers that maybe, just maybe, it is time.)_

If the dragonet is male, Altair considers carefully, maybe he will name it Kadar.

* * *

The egg had been meant for Federico. The first egg born of their father’s companion Verita is smooth, unblemished, fading from a matte black into a pearlescent white at the tip. The shell had already been hardened at the time of the hanging, hidden in the secret room beyond the fireplace and swaddled carefully in the blood red sash.

After, when Ezio could still hear the heartbroken keen of his father’s dragon before she, too, was put to death, he carefully curled himself around the egg as he dozed in Leonardo’s workshop, feeling the faintest, softest heartbeat drumming through the shell. 

When she is born, her scales glimmered a brilliant white except along her legs and claws that faded down into a sharp black speckled with small red ovals, as though her legs were dipped in tar and splattered in blood. Her eyes, like her sire’s, shone an eery crimson, two garnets against a silver setting.

Ezio names her Rivincita. She would the first the new generation of the Brotherhood.

When she is grown, Ezio drapes her in red and black silks, providing quick holds for him to clutch onto when they flew. She was small, smaller than a horse and barely big enough to carry him as her single captain, his arms slung around her slim neck and tangled in silken scarves and his legs free in the air, dangling in the winds like the silver chains and precious gems that hid the prowl of a hunter.

As the Brotherhood flourishes under their new Mentors, human and draconic alike, the Assassins become known and feared, leaping from the backs of dragons to steal their kills away before disappearing into the sky with the barest flash of scales and talons.

* * *

Connor did not understand why Kidd decided to stay with him. Her smooth hide was a stark white, interspersed with streaks of black and navy blue running stripes along her wings and chest that clashed with her blood-red eyes. Kidd, who of all, should have tried to kill him to avenge her captain.

The dragon had been his father’s companion, silent and stately as her captain and matched with flights of acerbic wit that could cut through steel. Connor had often seen her trailing after them on their search for Church, her wings folded tightly against her body as she followed them on foot and her tail carving deep furrows into the dirt. She had taken to settling on the deck of the Aquila during their voyage, her body curled up near the helmsman or in front of the captain’s cabin, comfortable in a way that spoke of years at sea. She wore a single chain of gold around her neck, thick and weighty with a deep-set sapphire pendant the size of a robin’s egg that hung against her breastbone and swayed in time with the waves.

She had not been at Fort George, and Connor tried not to think too hard about why. 

After, she had found Connor at the homestead, shovel in hand as he finished the last of his tasks. The pendant buried, he had turned to find her sitting on her haunches, unblinking and silent. She followed him into the house, her wings furled close to her body as she had wedged herself through the narrow doorway and into the manor. She remained silent as he burned the portraits, one by one, lingering another final moment at the portrait of his father. She stared at it too before he dropped it into the flames, watching the fire lick away at the paint and canvas. Afterwards, she curled up against him, her head in his lap and allowed him stroke gently between her eyes and together they mourned on what had to be done.

* * *

There are twenty-three children at the Farm and five dragonets. They train together, eat together, and sleep together. When the oldest of the children are given their novice initiation, each dragonet is given the chance to choose their companion or wait for another year.

Desmond has no illusions that a dragon will choose him. They always chose the best, the fastest, most cunning, most loyal. Desmond, the Mentor’s son who does not believe in Templars or Assassins, in ancient wars and lost civilizations, knows that no dragon would ever choose him.

When Desmond runs away to New York, whose streets have long been widened to accommodate its draconic citizens, sometimes he would stop and wonder what it would be like to fly.

Later on, strapped down to the Animus with a needle in his arm, he learns what it feels like through Altair and Ezio, Haytham and Connor. He learns and yearns for the bonds that hold them together, that were forged with dragons as they bloom into a destiny that was not meant for them but found them anyway.

As Desmond reaches for the podium, he wonders what dragon there might have been that could have found him.

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened.
> 
> Been a long long time since I've posted anything for the general public, so feedback would be severely appreciated. Please feel free to point out any mistakes/typos/grammar issues because I know there are lots. You might even get more related drabbles in this 'verse in exchange.


End file.
